Where I'm fromby Anna Kuelling I am from artwork,from rocks and ropes.I am from the fields, way up in the mountains.I am from the wood piano in the family room, whose bench legs I remember as if they were my own. I am from snow and biking,from paths that I have been to many a time.I am from books,in the classroom.From climb up to repel down.I'm from others, to myself at heart.With a pencil and paper,100 verses I can write. I am from my backyard,wilted flowers and stones.From the past of my dog, to the dam trampolineby the big pine tree,where we played. Under my bed were poems,spilling old photos,a remembrance of the past,to drift through my thoughts.I am from those moments,the good and the bad,the recipe of my life and me.
I am from artwork, from rocks and ropes. I am from the fields, way up in the mountains. I am from the wood piano in the family room, whose bench legs I remember as if they were my own.
I am from snow and biking, from paths that I have been to many a time. I am from books, in the classroom. From climb up to repel down. I'm from others, to myself at heart. With a pencil and paper, 100 verses I can write.
I am from my backyard, wilted flowers and stones. From the past of my dog, to the dam trampoline by the big pine tree,where we played.
Under my bed were poems, spilling old photos, a remembrance of the past, to drift through my thoughts. I am from those moments, the good and the bad, the recipe of my life and me.